The Self-playing Instrument of Water
It is the story of the falling rain
To turn into a leaf and fall again
It is the secret of a summer shower
To steal the light and hide it in a flower
And every flower a tiny tributary
That from the ground flows green and momentary
Is one of water’s wishes and this tale
Hangs in a seed head smaller than my thumbnail
If only I a passerby could pass
As clear as water through a plume of grass
To find the sunlight hidden at the tip
Turning to seed a kind of lifting raindrip
Then I might know like water how to balance
The weight of hope against the light of patience
Water which is so raw so earthy-strong
And lurks in cast iron tanks and leaks along
Drawn under gravity towards my tongue
To cool and fill the pipe-work of this song
Which is the story of the falling rain
That rises to the light and falls again
To turn into a leaf and fall again
It is the secret of a summer shower
To steal the light and hide it in a flower
And every flower a tiny tributary
That from the ground flows green and momentary
Is one of water’s wishes and this tale
Hangs in a seed head smaller than my thumbnail
If only I a passerby could pass
As clear as water through a plume of grass
To find the sunlight hidden at the tip
Turning to seed a kind of lifting raindrip
Then I might know like water how to balance
The weight of hope against the light of patience
Water which is so raw so earthy-strong
And lurks in cast iron tanks and leaks along
Drawn under gravity towards my tongue
To cool and fill the pipe-work of this song
Which is the story of the falling rain
That rises to the light and falls again
© 2013, Alice Oswald
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